


Key Party

by oonaseckar



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Key Party, M/M, Marriage, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22911034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oonaseckar/pseuds/oonaseckar
Summary: Charles and Sebastian: not ahappymarriage.  But Charles has his own purposes and plans.He doesn't need to berescued.Least of all by headhunted new company director Erik Lehnsherr.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Sebastian Shaw/Charles Xavier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. open house

**Author's Note:**

> Offa the kinkmeme, onto the... Yeah. Ya know the drill. 
> 
> Also orig-ficced to some degree as gothic mork on Wattpad.

He knew it was about punishment. It wasn't like he couldn't work out that much by now. At least he knew what to expect when they drew up in front of the Stark residence: not like the first time, when he'd been genuinely shocked as realization dawned at the end of the evening.

Now, they sat in the stilled car a moment, and he schooled his face to an appropriate sulkiness, with a touch of tension.

'For God's sake, Charles. Get that look off your face,' Seb snarled. And Charles didn't need his telepathy to read the emotions crossing his face. A trace of guilt, chasing satisfaction: then the anger feeding off the guilt. Blimey, he was going to have to be something of a sinner to justify that anger. But Seb would find a way: to make him the guilty party. 'It's not as if you don't need a smile on your face, it might take attention away from those godawful rags you're wearing. What were you thinking? I'm embarrassed to be seen with you, you know you're supposed to be a credit to me? Well, at least I won't be the one taking you home tonight.'

This last was delivered heavily as he climbed out of the car. (Not so young in years now: it took a bit of effort. They'd been married a long time. Too long, you might say.)

Of course, Charles mused, following him in obediently, he might not have had to be so embarrassingly dowdy. Not if Seb hadn't greeted his first effort – a slightly sheer red shirt and plain black pants, dress shoes – with a high-volume diatribe that – unsurprisingly – contained the terms 'streetwalker', 'slut' and 'streetcorner'. Amongst other alliterative efforts.

So, dark suit and flattened hair and a bowed head it was, then, as they were ushered in.


	2. Chapter 2

xxx

And the evening went as the evening must: everyone pretending nothing special was going on and it was just an ordinary party. Seb abandoned him immediately to monopolize Tony, debating over tactics for the European market, and whether the multi-molecular synthesis/division proposal was a valid option. He smiled slightly as his childhood friend glanced at him, pulled away from so much as a greeting. Their conversation had to be silent: greeting and consolation and a wry commentary in itself, no need to read each other's minds. Tony knew better than to provoke Seb: considering Charles would be the one to suffer from it later.

So, stranded, he huddled with Angel and Hank for a while, danced with Scott a couple of times – a show for them as liked it, a couple of takees sliding up against each other, takers pretending not to be watching. Seb certainly watched every second: another thing he'd pay for later. Better to have something concrete for him to pounce on, than have it last longer as he searched for infractions.

All the time he might as well have had a laser trained on his head, and knew it. But still he wouldn't look: wouldn't meet those eyes. By the end: when the hush was settling, then the giggles starting up from the newbies, the elaborate yawns from the old hands – he'd still not met Lehnsherr's eyes once. When it came his turn to fish around in the bowl, he kept his eyes down, aware of the shift and the focus, from the exact arcminute where _he_ stood. Him.

Jangling aimlessly, he made a grab. What did it matter after all, it'd either be that one or it wouldn't.


	3. Chapter 3

But as he grabbed, he felt a returning pull. Possibly he startled for one moment: but then stilled, and let his hand relax. And felt the shove, the nudge, as another set of keys writhed and rolled into his palm.

It was awfully hard to breathe straight and calm, as he straightened and held them up, a polite inquiry on his face. Mercifully Lehnsherr made no performance of it: ignored the catcalls and the whoops, as he moved forward and pulled the keys out of Charles hand. Then took his arm and calmly guided him out of the room.

Most of what Charles was aware of, in the blur and the alcohol-assisted haze, was Seb's face. Oh dammit. Another thing he'd be paying for: the chance arrangement of a bundle of keys in a bowl. Well: completely random, as far as Seb could possibly be aware, in any case.

xxx

The drive was silent, and he made no attempt to skim over Lehnsherr's mind. It would be rude (as far as that meant anything given the situation.) And he might not care for what he found: which would surely spoil a night that could otherwise be a pleasant memory.

Inside his jacket was politely taken, and he was offered a drink. Nothing: not a flicker, not a chink in the impassivity of the man's face. That was fine, and in fact probably better. Take it for what it was. Take it. Take.

It was a no to the drink. "Are you sure?" In the middle of the kitchen, Lehnsherr's eyes flicked to the cupboards, the humming refrigerators. "Can I get you anything else?"

The shameful thing –- the only thing he could feel shame about, wondering about himself –- was how matter-of-fact he'd become. About the whole thing. "No. Let's just go upstairs."

He was ten stairs up, and pulling off his starchy business shirt, before Lehnsherr was following him. He couldn't even pretend to be a nervous virgin, any more. And nor was he a long-time virgin to being fucked by anyone other than his husband.


	4. Chapter 4

Walking down the upper hallway, he did wonder which room was the one Lehnsherr shared with Frost. There was no visible master bedroom indicator: but as he passed a white, white door in the white, white hall, Lehnsherr caught up and grabbed at his arm. 'Not that one. Look, over here.'

Charles looked down at his arm, at the long, fine hand gripping it. Well. First touch. It had been a long six months of looks and silence and avoiding even so much as an introduction, for this little moment to be the first touch.

Lehnsherr let go: as if burned, as they do say. 'Sorry.'

Well. Charles couldn't help but laugh at that, his whole body relaxing. He turned and prodded the guy in the stomach, which offered considerable, impressive muscular resistance. 'Love. If we're not going to get any further than that then this whole thing is a waste of time.'

And he turned and went for the room indicated, pulling off more clothes, not bothering to check for a reaction. Naked all the way, on the edge of the bed and pulling off a final sock, stretching and easing tense neck and shoulders, before he looked up to find out what the delay was.


	5. Chapter 5

His ravisher for the night stood in the doorway, and if such a suave character might be capable of it, he wrung his hands. Really. 'Really. Seriously? You thought you were getting an anxious virgin on the verge of a breakdown?' It seemed like the best explanation. The hesitation in Lehnsherr's response said plenty.

'How many times have you done this before?' he asked. His brow had been creased, disbelieving: but smoothed out again. There was something carefully expressionless now: more effortful.

Charles cocked an eyebrow, stretched out and rested his head on his hand. 'Are you disappointed? I can pretend if you like. “Oh, my wicked husband, I feel so humiliated, please don't fuck me, or at least be gentle...”' He couldn't squash a laugh.

Lehnsherr sat down beside him, and that was better. Less oppositional, more them assessing the hand they'd been dealt.

'That's not how it is?' Lehnsherr asked. Charles felt the pressure of his eyes: but couldn't really be bothered with the work of eye contact and serious communication at this point, and rolled over, stretching out on a cool coverlet.

'Maybe the first time. I was surprised, at least: a little warning would have been nice. Now? It's just a relief to have a night off from Seb. Don't pass that on, by the way: I'd never get a night off again, if he thought it was a treat and a holiday.' Charles yawned.

'So how many of these people have you fucked? In this _exclusive_ little circle.' Charles was on his stomach, feeling odd blinks of sleepiness: but there was a rawness in the tone that jerked him awake.


	6. Chapter 6

He had no reason to keep secrets that weren't secret from Seb. 'Oh, Tony. Logan. Moira. Scott, not that Seb knows that one. Oops. Keep that quiet, would you?' It was nothing and less than nothing: a long way from the prime concerns that occupied his mind night and day. It barely occurred to him any more to wonder how it would strike an unprepared mind. The hand that planted itself in the middle of his shoulderblades, pushed him down, was a shock. He'd thought himself some way beyond being shocked at this point.

Maybe it was just that someone was _capable_ of shock: someone not quite numb. He'd known there was _something_ about Lehnsherr, all these months of unspoken conversation.

Slowly Lehnsherr released him. 'You're not who I thought you were.' He didn't sound disappointed. It sounded like it went rather further than that.

Charles scrambled up: up close, a trifle indignant, breathing fast. A little turned on, feeling that old signalling tingle, if truth be told. Well, all to the good, right? 'How do you know? You don't know anything, yet.' He looked Lehnsherr up and down, all curled askew himself, butt-naked and too blasé to care, even. Smart enough to know that wasn't a good thing. 'What I'm mostly noticing is that I'm ready and willing to fulfil the unspoken contract we have going, and you – you still have your _cufflinks_ on.' He put a world of contempt into the word.

Lehnsherr stared at him, up close: and he could feel all these months of tension and speculation and fantasy being replaced. By anger, irritation, resolve. When he was pushed flat on his back, it wasn't a huge surprise, but it was still no use. 'Still got your fucking _clothes on_ ,' he pointed out acidly.


	7. Chapter 7

The man stilled, stood fluidly and remedied that. Charles watched the show appreciatively. Most of what he'd enjoyed these past months was the knowledge of being the subject of private daydreams, wondering what particular fantasies Lehnsherr was harbouring. He'd always been susceptible to flattery, perhaps more than most. (How else had he ever let Seb ensnare him?) And at his advanced age it was a long time since he'd been the target of anyone's infatuation, not that he hadn't been through it time and again in his twenties, before he was caught and captured and and made a dowdy house-spouse of.

But he was a long way from immune to beauty either, and there was a flickering heat trying to suck him in, as he watched Lehnsherr drop his shirt, back long and smooth and golden-skinned, undo and step out of his pants as he leaned one leg against the bed. When he looked at Charles his eyes were unreadable, a clear green with all the warmth washed out. Of course he could be read: but Charles preferred to have a puzzle to work on. It passed the time.

He reached out a hand when the job was done, but Lehnsherr was already crawling onto the bed, looming over him. A hand caught, a leg hooked, and he was pressed flatter, further back down into the sheets, and had rarely felt more like the prey being hunted in a nature documentary about lions. What did that make him, a gazelle? Something harmless, helpless. Lehnsherr wasn't to know – no, surely knew? - he wasn't so helpless as that.

'What did you have in mind?' he murmured, as Lehnsherr dipped his face into the hollow of Charles' neck, nuzzled over shoulder and chest. 'Or, what have you had in mind, all this time? All this time you've been thinking about it, I've been watching you think it.' Crowded down, skin to skin all the way, it was pleasant to feel overwhelmed, to let go the wheel as Lehnsherr's knee dug hard between his legs, his frankly impressive cock pressed against Charles' thigh. 'Did you want to ravage the helpless innocent caught up in a web – oh, we won't make it a web, how about a pit? - of sophisticated corruption and depravity? Or maybe to save me? And then ravage me, hmm?'


	8. Chapter 8

He got a hand free, pushed it rough and combative through Lehnsherr's lenthgthening mane, as he felt the first bite at his shoulder. Had the man had it cut at all, all these months since being appointed Tony's mass materials director? It had been close-shaven then: when he'd turned up, new and of ill-repute and impatient, and brutalized the department into a terrified efficiency. And passed by Charles in the hallway, that first day, where he was on a Seb-approved call for a lunch-date appointment with Tony. Quite oblivious, walking past, snapping into his phone, throwing unsatisfactory paperwork at the assistant behind him.

Charles had felt a click, in the air as he passed by. Not something he'd felt before: perhaps his power, or some instinct. He'd looked back. Lehnsherr was stilled in the middle of the corridor, had turned back too. Staring.

Charles had gone on his way smiling. He did enjoy a bit of drama, new developments, something to look forward to. It took his mind off things.

And now here he was, getting mauled by the beast of Stark Industries' production division. 'What do you want for tonight?' he breathed, trying to get some attention from the fellow that wasn't just hands gripping his ass and hair and just about everywhere else. 'I mean, we'll get somewhere like this eventually, but if there was something specific you had in mind then – ow, careful – maybe we could make it a co-operative venture. What were you going to say to me, how were you going to approach me? Ten minutes or so ago, when you still thought I was a terrified Bambi?'

He heard the amusement roll in his own voice, but he heard more than that. Maybe he'd had one too many civilized, polite couplings of late: because getting mauled by this silent marauder seemed to be doing the trick. To be doing something, anyhow. But his needling had worked: Lehnsherr raised his head from a vehement attack on Charles' right nipple, and his eyes were a little glazed, but his diction was clear and sharp. Very sharp.


	9. Chapter 9

'You'll laugh. I believe it would have been along the lines of, 'We don't have to do anything you don't want to do.''

'Oh,' Charles said, on a dying sigh. 'How sweet. What a gentleman.'

He got a laugh for it, that was nice. Least the gorilla had a sense of humour. Mangling was resumed immediately, and he was perfectly agreeable to that. Quite enthused, in fact, ready to be put through his paces like a dressage pony, to show what he could do. So that he found himself a touch confused to be suddenly halfway through being gently rolled and folded over. Instead of face to face, he was spooned up in Lehnsherr's arms.

There wasn't exactly anything wrong with that. It was just... odd. Not out of the bounds of the community agreement, of course. No violence, no disrespect for consent issues, no unsafe sex, no tangling ties and emotional bonding, no calls more than thirty-six hours later? No. It wasn't covered in the communal understanding.

He'd had partners walk a lot closer to the line, and be less disturbing than this.

It wasn't quite his normal voice, maybe a semi-tone high, when he asked, 'What exactly are you doing?' Maybe there was a tremble to it too.

And Lehnsherr tightened his grip around Charles' upper arms, as he responded. 'What would you like me to do?' That voice – right in his ear, the breath hot on the shell of it. 'Let me see if I can find something,' he suggested, and traced a hand, flat, a little rough-skinned, over Charles' belly, down scratching and pinching to settle on his cock with the faintest squeeze. A highly _proprietorial_ squeeze.

It was nothing. It was nothing at all, compared to a whole lot of things he'd done and never turned a hair at. Pre-Seb, pre-key-parties, even. Why exactly _nothing at all_ could make his eyes wet and give a raw clench to his chest was a mystery of impressive proportions.


	10. Chapter 10

Hey, the group was _civilized_. There was plenty of cuddling involved. (Sometimes there were crossword puzzles and all-night Twilight Zone marathons, for that matter. It wasn't always all about _sex_.) It was just cuddling at the appropriate time, in the appropriate way, that was all. It was _Code_ cuddling.

'Okay,' he said, apropos of nothing, and gave a little heave to get himself out of Lehnsherr's arms and turned around. The appropriate orientation, where they could get this party started, instead of... well, instead of whatever the hell this was.

It didn't actually get him re-located in physical space. Lehnsherr only had one arm confining him now, but it seemed plenty. After an irritable little struggle, he subsided, and Lehnsherr laughed. Right there, and up close. 'What _are_ you doing?'

'I had the general idea of moving things along,' Charles said, a shrug only rubbing skin against skin and reminding him of, well, various aspects of their current state.

'You're not happy with this?' Lehnsherr asked. His arm was tighter, and Charles lifted his own hands, to graze the backs along Lehnsherr's forearm. Corded, tan, unmoving, a steel band like something around a brandy barrel. Charles' chest was a lot more fragile than that, though. Lehnsherr's other hand was moving gradually, easing up and down Charles' cock, and when had that started, how slyly, for him not to have noticed? 'I'm pretty happy with it,' Lehnsherr continued.


	11. Chapter 11

'Yes,' Charles said drily. 'I had noticed.' He wriggled his ass back to make his point, and felt exactly how happy Lehnsherr was. He _had_ noticed.

'Oh, that's nice,' Lehnsherr said, and his voice was... dreamy? At that he gripped Charles' cock in earnest and started to put his back into it, and, well, simple male physiology took care of the rest.

Charles was slightly amazed to find he didn't particularly _want_ it to take care of the rest. Dammit, there was supposed to be... it was... well, it was humiliating, _infantilizing_ , to be _taken care of._ As if he didn't very well know what he was doing. As if he couldn't service one of Seb's business associates, one of their friends and neighbours, put on a show, give it the whole nine yards and never feel a thing beyond a spurt of jism and the satisfaction of a job well done. What was all this, this holding, and the constraint, and the silent eyes and nuzzling? What the hell was that about?

Yet there was evidently some sick cranny in his submerged psyche that liked it, after all, as he strained against Lehnsherr's arm as it held him still in place. And he rebelled, utterly dissociated himself as his cock jerked and his legs kicked and he tried, tried, _couldn't_ feel nothing. Not this once. Not even with Lehnsherr murmuring approval in his ear, as he came, the patronising _ass_. Rubbing his cheek against Charles' hair, while Charles struggled for absolutely _minimal_ moans and whining.

With his eyes squeezed shut, shuddering for quite some moments after, he wondered if, after all, _he_ might be the one to have violated some of the terms of the communal agreement. It almost felt for a moment as if the emotional bonding aspect... oh, ridiculous. It wasn't as if he was an adolescent, to be overwhelmed by a moment's unexpected intimacy.

He got a grip. Reminded himself he was vulnerable: inevitably, given his circumstances. All the more reason to be perpetually on guard. See where a moment's unwariness had got him: sweaty, naked, splattered with his own come, peeled up against a taciturn hunk of granite. Who seemed more inclined to pet him like an expensive pure-breed, than to offer him the minimum respect of a contractual exchange of sexual favours.


	12. Chapter 12

Some sort of retaliatory strike seemed in order. So, a quick bit of writhing up against the fellow's delicate parts, which should suffice, he thought, and he observed, 'You want a hand with that? _Quid pro quo_ and whatnot?' Yes, Lehnsherr's interest was definitely, ah, not flagging, there.

It was the moment for another try at gently easing out of Lehnsherr's arms and – oh, hell with it, this was ridiculous. 'Look, what are we here for anyway?' he demanded, as much genuinely curious as irritable, and still helplessly clamped up against the fellow. 'You did, after all, go to some considerable trouble to illicitly obtain my favours for the night. And that right under the nose of my husband, and whoever it was I was supposed to go home with, might I remind you?'

He got silence for a response for a minute, since Lehnsherr was busy dragging a sheet over them, tutting and adjusting it for a few moments. He suffered it. He'd had some odd ones in his time, but this one would probably scoop the pool. The fellow wiped his hand off as he did it, and thank God, since next on the agenda was him firming up his grip and brushing at Charles' mouth. Yes, with _that_ hand, and while not unacquainted with his own spunk he didn't feel the need to get any closer to a sample of it, _thank you very much._

'You talk like a dictionary. Do you ever slow down?' Lehnsherr rumbled, quite pleasant and sleepy-sounding. 'What's the hurry? There's no hurry. We've got all night, remember.' A little more mauling and petting followed, and it wasn't getting any less disconcerting. Lehnsherr rubbed his face up against the back of Charles' neck, landed a kiss, mumbled something inaudible. Maybe he was going to sleep?


	13. Chapter 13

'All night for what? That's the point,' Charles muttered, obscurely frustrated. 'I might as well be at home talking to my orchids, at this rate.'

'Don't do that,' Lehnsherr murmured, and started fiddling with Charles' hair. After a moment, he realised the eerily unnerving brute had twined a lock around one finger, and was proceeding to play with it. It was something like being a gorilla's Barbie. Or Ken, he supposed. Ken. Clearly time for a haircut, anyway. 'I'm sure I'd make a more appreciative audience. Talk to me, Charles Xavier. Why don't you talk to me?'

Talk. He wanted to _talk_. Well, Charles certainly had a few _questions_.


	14. Chapter 14

"Me?" Charles asked, pulling his head back, hand to his collarbone to check who they were talking about. Okay, maybe he was overdoing it just a bit. "Hey - _buddyboy_ \- I'm not the one who's avoiding questions, here. In case you haven't noticed."

He was smiling, with his eyes still closed. And Charles was going to have to ruffle that unruffled good-nature, that placid self-satisfaction, if it killed him. Or Lehnsherr, preferably Lehnsherr.


	15. Chapter 15

(And it wasn't as if it were his natural state. Charles knew that much -- was in a position to, with big boss-man Tony being his ole pal, and all his little heads of department cosying up to Charles. Telling him all the horror stories, about what a temperamental raging beast Lehnsherr was, a tyrant, a terror. Over-egging the pudding a bit, but there had to be at least some substance behind such a tangle of tales.)

"Remind me," Lehnsherr suggested. Not credibly, especially with that little smirk on his face. Cruising' for a bruisin', this fella. Not a physical one, perhaps: but Charles was an expert at laying into someone with a little psychological finesse.

He'd learnt from the _master_.

Now, he dug his acrylics - done up for the evening, but subtle enough -- taupe, with only a couple of diamants -- he had some subtlety, and a parade-ground sergeant-major policing his every wardrobe choice -- into Lehnsherr's tan paw, where it rested half on chest, half on collarbone. "The _keys_ ," he said. Disdaining more detail. Lehnsherr knew what time it was, all right. "Is it a new kind of technology?" he asked, tentatively. Because he wasn't an idiot, and knew all about intellectual property, industrial espionage, _et cetera, falalalala, lalalala._ Sebastian was a valuable client of Stark Industries -- and even then, Tony might not have tolerated him socially, or even commercially, except for Charles's sake. But even then, it could be more than Lehnsherr's job was worth, to let slip a detail of a commercially viable new venture in tech.


	16. Chapter 16

Still, he couldn't restrain himself from asking. Because he was a scientist -- or had trained as one, at least -- had almost gone into engineering himself. And to create was divine, and beautiful, and fascinating. (Well, he'd almost been a scientist. Once. Until Sebastian, of course. Now, he was a trophy spouse, serving decorative purposes only. A dolly, plastic and unfeeling.) "Is it something like self-driving motorvehicular tech?" he hazarded, feeling his way. Suddenly interested. And terrified.

Being interested -- in anything -- that was dangerous. That could get him into trouble. and not just him, either.

But Lehnsherr stretched a little, grumbling without words, behind him. "Cold, stony cold," he observed. "Miles out, little spy."


End file.
